Picking a Major
by Molly4
Summary: Seth musing on his future. One-shot.


A/N: Seth-centric piece. Maybe Sandy's switch from PD to big bucks lawyer messed with his head a little bit. One-shot. Some bad language. I'd like to think it might explain some of Seth's character development beginning in the first season.

Disclaimers: Don't own it. It's all Josh Schwartz.

Rating: PG, for some mild cussing.

Picking a Major

By: Molly4

Seth pauses and bites the end of his pencil. Potential majors. The good folks at the College Board or whatever want to know his potential majors. Well, all right.

He's taking the PSAT's, but he finished well ahead of schedule. This is his dry run for next week and his second time taking the test. He'd done well the first time, but probably not Ryan-well. But then, Seth figures it's hard to do Ryan-well when you're having a panic attack of epic proportions.

That had been back when things like grades and PSAT scores had been a big deal. Because Seth Cohen had The Plan. And if he was going to fulfill The Plan he had to ace every test, get the highest GPA possible and found pointless clubs with only one member. He was done with The Plan now. He had no direction now.

1450. He'd gotten a 1450. That was the ballpark figure anyway. His parents had gone mad with pride; they'd even bought him a cake. But when he retreated to his room that night, he cursed himself for such a low test score. He studied his SAT prep book for hours, because he had to live out The Plan.

The Plan was pretty simple: He was going to become his father. Graduate from Berkeley, become a public defender, maybe write a few novels on the side while fighting for those who couldn't help themselves. He was going to be selfless and self-righteous. He was going to put the snobby elite in their place. He was going to save the world.

Seth was well aware that his love for his father had been nothing short of hero worship for the better part of his life. He loved his mother dearly, but his father was Superman.

They didn't fit in. Seth didn't fit in with the trust fund babies, and Sandy had no place among the adult world: the apathetic drunk gossip mongers. Together they were a team. Together they got out of charity events and sat home playing Super Nintendo, eating pizza, and basking in their moral superiority.

Even before Seth could understand the concept of a public defender, he grasped the basic idea of what his father did: he helped people. When someone needed someone and had no one, Sandy Cohen was there. Seth liked the idea. When he had no one, it was Sandy who scooped him into his arms and made him feel like the world was his.

When he was seven years old, he'd drawn his first comic. The Newport Crusader, the story of a bushy-eyebrowed father of one saving the downtrodden from the evil Botox Lady. Each comic strip went on the refrigerator. Each drawing earned Seth a proud smile and a monster hug. His father liked being a hero. His father liked being his hero.

And as time went by, and Seth drifted away, he still admired his father. He simply became a little more secretive about it. He still doodled a Newport Crusader adventure when he was bored in study hall, but those stayed closed up in his notebook.

Every time the water polo team made him their prime target, Seth found solace in the fact that Sandy would be facing the same thing, had he been in his place. Seth figured he was his father's son; he just didn't belong there. And every time he overheard one of the Newpsies comparing him to Sandy with disgust in their voice, he swelled with pride. He was happy to be the outcast. He was happy to be himself. Happy to have enough money to buy a fleet of yachts, but not fall into their traps. He wasn't going to be a trust fund asshole. He was going to use his wealth for good, not evil.

That was how it went. Wealth wasn't supposed to change Sandy Cohen. He wasn't supposed to be afflicted by pride or greed. You weren't to be fooled by the rock that he had, he was still Sandy Cohen from the Bronx.

And then, bye-bye public defender's office. And why? To show Jimmy Cooper who had the bigger dick? The Newport Crusader was confident in his masculinity. He didn't care about the money he made, it was all about the love of the game.

Seth nibbles at his eraser, thinks about Ryan. Was Ryan just Sandy's way of paying his dues before he could sell out and become everything he preached against? He could take the high paying job but still cry savior with a cough cough and a point to Ryan.

Seth passes his father's new law firm every day on the way to school. It's like a fucking country club, such a difference from the public defender's office. He used to skateboard past the PD's office every time he needed to remind himself why he didn't want to belong in Newport. Sometimes he'd stop in and have lunch with Sandy, or they'd shoot hoops, back when Seth had some semblance of hand-eye coordination.

He always thought he had an ally in hating Newport. It was them against the world, and Seth had to admit he liked it that way. He'd spent half his childhood in his father's oversized Berkeley sweatshirt, planning out his future. Married to Summer, a few kids, a nice but not extravagant house in Berkeley. What his father would want for him.

And then his father changed. Switched jobs, fielded cases about country clubs and yachting permits. What kind of life was Seth supposed to lead now? Who was he supposed to look up to?

He had The Plan. His father was living proof that The Plan wouldn't work out. Maybe he should just give in and become everything he was brought up to reject.

Seth threw down his pencil and sighed. His Plan had fallen through. Part of him is thankful for that. He shouldn't have built his entire future around one man's life. He couldn't even figure out things for himself. And now with a list of dozens of possible futures, dozens of different paths, he couldn't find even one that looked vaguely appealing.

He talks a lot more now- who'd believe he used to be a quiet kid?- but he doesn't know what he's saying. He has so many questions that never escape his lips, no matter how hard he tries. He wants to find out why his own father sold out, why he willingly goes to the charity events these days, why he hasn't seen any evidence of Sandy doing more pro bono work at his new office.

He doesn't want to blame his father, because he never asked for Seth's own personal brand of adoration. Or did he? He doesn't know. All Seth knows is that he's lost. That one definite in his life has vanished. His father is one of them.

So he doesn't check one fucking box.

end


End file.
